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"Now that's the face of a man who just got his nutsack kicked into his ribcage."
"Ain't funny, O'Reily. Just 'cause I knew it was fucking coming" --pointing at his sarcastic welcome home party, Miguel let the pod door shut behind him, even though it wasn't lockdown yet-- "it was your ass that made me think of the possibility."
His irritation turned inward with a sigh. Miguel knew. He fucking knew. Him serving out his full sentence was set in stone. Miguel was the idiot who had chosen to stop riding the high of nothingness and fucking care again in recent years. O'Reily hadn't decided it was time for him to start fighting again-- Miguel had. Ryan just happened to sort of... be by his side (and stay there)... while he did it.
Wasn't O'Reily's fault Miguel had walked all stupid and serious right into a fucking firing squad again, like it would make a difference. Miguel had been strung as tight as a fucking bow for a couple hours, all bitter tension from first the anticipation, then from struggling to hold back his words and his fists in response to the bureaucratic hostility thrown at him. Now, though, the long familiar walk returning him to his pod, the end of all the suspense, it felt like that energy had been crushed out of him. Hadn't snapped, but lost his resistance and gone slack, maybe. Kind of felt too worn the fuck out to deal with O'Reily's occasionally amusing, sharp-tongued bullshit, though. "Not-- not now, okay."
"Not joking." Ryan did look strangely fucking serious, not like he was taking a stab at Miguel. "Close your eyes."
"Around you?" Miguel's scoff came out naturally, but he wasn't really fighting either. "No."
Fucking O'Reily had an annoyingly effective patronizing expression of disbelief. "You're aware you close your eyes around me every fucking night, right?"
"Yep. It's not night." Look, Miguel just felt fucking contrary right now, okay? He may be strangely exhausted, like he'd been in a fight, without the physical part, but he wasn't dead. (Not anymore.)
O'Reily had a point, though. Didn't hesitate to close his eyes around him anymore. (When he wasn't having a shitty fucking day, anyway.)
"Fine." Ryan rolled his eyes, pissy even in surrender. "Just turn around and watch the numbnuts sucking at checkers for a minute, before I change my mind on account of you being so fucking stubborn it's fucking annoying."
Miguel raised an eyebrow, but yeah, might as well turn around. O'Reily had stabbed plenty of people in the back, sure, but not like, literally.
Heard like, rustling behind him. Wasn't half as tense as he would've been a few years ago with fucking O'Reily moving around mysteriously behind him.
"Okay, nobody out there is that fascinating, unless you're suddenly falling in love."
Guess that meant it was time to turn around.
Ryan had his hands behind his back. Yeah, couple years ago? That would be really worrisome. Now it just distracted Miguel from the crushing weight of years of futility for a second. Just a second.
"Pick one. Don't have all day."
Miguel stepped forward, even as he-- wasn't really a protest, just that weight, tumbling out of his mouth. "Since when? Got all the fucking time in the fucking world."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm aware. I don't even get to go sit in that fucking room for assholes to judge me, remember? We both got all that time together." That was-- just for a second it was like O'Reily's sarcasm was slipping, something more serious hidden underneath. But it was wiped away by impatience before Miguel could tell. "Right or left, mopey?"
It was O'Reily-- touch just worked better than talk when dealing with him sometimes. It was okay with Ryan, to lean in, be near, sit close, to put hands on him accompanying your words. O'Reily didn't even note it. Not a raised eyebrow, not a shitty remark. (At most, he just touched back. And it didn't-- didn't feel anything like when that pendejo had used to pet Miguel and stare at him. No, nothing like that at all.)
So Miguel tapped Ryan's right arm instead of speaking.
He was rewarded with Ryan brandishing a pudding cup at him, complete with little plastic spoon.
"Nice." Probably the first time Miguel had grinned in hours, maybe all day. Hurt his face, almost, no matter it being small.
O'Reily sloughed off Miguel's low note of appreciation with a half shrug. "Still got moves."
Miguel definitely wasn't going to argue with that. He wanted out of this fucking suit first, though. The tight weird feeling of the fit had slowly worsened, until it almost felt like it was closing in around him, like the walls of Ad-Seg. "Give me a-- got to get out of this fucking monkey suit."
Ryan actually waited, one hand still casually behind his back, as Miguel stripped off the scratchy ill-fitting jacket, tugged off the tie noose, and pulled the fucking dress shirt out of his pants, undoing some of its buttons, top and bottom until he didn't feel trapped. O'Reily wouldn't wait forever, and that was good enough, felt like he could breathe. As long as he focused on the pudding. (The present moment, not past or future.) Held in the hand with Ryan's tat, curled around it, spoon between his fingers.
Green eyes. Dangerous mouth not shredding him with vicious sarcastic jabs.
Shit, Miguel must really look like total shit for Ryan O'Reily to be this damn nice to him. (Sort of wasn't that surprising, though. O'Reily wasn't a dick most of the time anymore. Not like he used to be. Not to Miguel.)
Miguel claimed his consolation prize, or whatever, brushing against-- felt rough and calloused maybe, Ryan's hand. "Man, was the left one tits? Should've picked the left."
"Seriously? Didn't you learn your lesson about using that shit as a coping mechanism?" It was hilarious to hear coming from a fucking drug dealer, especially with how adamant O'Reily was about it.
And nope, it was a chocolate candy bar, which Ryan tossed onto Miguel's bunk. "For later, when you start fucking brooding again."
The pudding cup he understood, that was easy. Patients in the ward got 'em more regularly than guys in the chow line did. The chocolate bar? O'Reily might not work the cafeteria anymore, but he could still clearly work things. (Once he'd clawed through his grief enough to look around him, finding those moves again. Happened about the same time as-- Miguel had been there for that, too.)
"So what? I'm a little kid now, you're giving me treats to cheer me up?" Miguel collapsed into his bed, slouching against the wall. Was careful with his pudding, and to not sit on his candy bar, though.
Ryan snorted, flowing right in after him, settling next to him in a similar position against the wall. Fucker was taller, though. Slouched less, melted more, almost. "Since when does anything cheer your grumpy ass up?"
Solid heat had joined Miguel, pressing right against his side, unflinching as always. He was used to it now, being there with him. Even in his still slightly uncomfortable dress shirt, he felt almost comfor-- whatever, he was here for another year, and he'd known that would be the case.
"Like you're a ray of sunshine? Fuck off with that." Miguel rebuffed mildly, an exhale without heat behind it.
Shitty fucking day. Predictable fucking day.
This part, though? Less predictable. Less shitty.
"Gracias." May have been quiet and directed towards his pudding cup a bit, but O'Reily's response was immediate, bumping against his shoulder, knee knocking his.
Always there now. (Would be for another year, and probably after that.)
And Miguel was used to it.
"Told you," Miguel pointed out how he was fucking right and Ryan O'Reily was wrong, sort of. "Went fucking awful. Now I got another year before I have to do that shit again."
May have ripped the top off his pudding cup with extra enthusiasm for tearing into something. Licked the remnants off foil with closed eyes, focusing on just the chocolate on his tongue. That was actually better. A tiny fucking bit. Didn't see that motherfucker's face sneering at him from behind his little table, with his petty power, behind his lids with every blink anymore.
Had the smell of chocolate, and something solid underneath him. (At his side.)
"Hey, sign me up to be shit on. I'll charm 'em."
Miguel stopped licking and started eyeballing, but it wasn't-- the lid had been licked clean and this was just another distraction. Another hook pulling him out of his head. "What? You think I'm just not charming enough? Fuck off."
O'Reily was just letting all the 'fuck off''s roll off of him today. Maybe he knew Miguel didn't mean them.
"Punching someone in the face? Maybe not as sweet as you think it is." Steady --and okay, slightly judgmental but not punchable-- expression right there close. One long blink and that was gone too, replaced with a shrug by something unreadable. "Nah, you're-- ain't you, right? It's that bitter motherfucker pushing you on purpose. I probably would've taken a swing at him too."
Sure. Ryan O'Reily actually getting in a physical altercation. By choice. When it didn't involve like, Nazis, or one of the few people on the planet he cared about being in immediate danger. That would totally happen. Miguel let it slide, because he had pudding. Also had the knowledge that O'Reily had caught himself there. If Miguel didn't know better? Ryan had almost said Miguel was charming or something. The thought added an extra amused twist to Miguel's grin.
"Yeah, well, Irish charm does turn into fucking brawling pretty often, right?" Miguel observed with that smirk, also turned towards the spoon stuck in his pudding. He'd paused before digging in. Had all day. Well, unless the Hacks noticed. O'Reily was blocking him on the glass side, though, and Miguel held it tucked against his body.
"Least you went. Would've kicked your ass if you hadn't."
Miguel let Ryan have that one, too, mostly because he was busy sucking the pudding off the spoon, tongue pressed into it, while Ryan spoke.
"You never know. It's really just the one guy, right? With the bug up his ass about you?"
Spoon came out, because that deserved a response. His words may have come out fucking bitter, but he still held the taste of sweetness on his tongue. "Yeah. The main fucking guy. The last fucking word."
Felt another shrug against him. "He Immortal? People get promoted. Fired. Hit by trucks. That cocksucker might move on one day and you'll have a new face to impress. Now you know -- don't fucking punch them this time, no matter how much they yank your chain.'
"He seems pretty fucking set up and dug in, hermano." The familiar word flowed off his tongue now, towards O'Reily. It wasn't thrown away, either.
"So did Torquemada, and look how that worked out." Ryan O'Reily may have changed after all the shit he'd lost, but he could still look sharp as a fucking blade sometimes.
Alvarez hadn't dealt with that fucked up entanglement on his own, and he would never forget that. That had been them.
Never would forget any of that time he gave up to Destiny, really. As hard as breathing and fighting was in here, Miguel was resolved not to go back to deadened floating. He was dealing with the struggle okay for now.
Today was just a shitty day, when he'd had a shitty reminder of all the continuing shit stretched out before him.
Today he also had chocolate, though, two kinds, so there was that.
"Please tell me you don't think even your wily Irish ass has the connects to have the head of the parole board whacked," Miguel joked idly, and ate slowly, and all the hours sucked a little less if he passed them like this, really. "If either of us could pull that off, we'd be able to swing way more shit. Like, you might get the joy of experiencing a table full of assholes glaring at you while rattling off your crimes. That could take days."
Ryan's chuckle against his side again, so quick and low it didn't even shake him. "Nah, unfortunately not. I've started keeping a closer eye on Busmalis, though."
"Me too."
Nothing to stare at but the sink in front of them. Could sort of see them in the mirror, just pieces. Some of him, some of Ryan. Miguel's eyes caught Ryan's slight movement even as he felt it again.
"Eh. Maybe it ain't that bad of a break, getting turned down again. Like you said, it's not like anybody hires ex-cons. Everyone outside would be gunning for you, looking to shine their brass balls in the eyes of your-- frankly, poorly fucking run and stupid-- old gang. You'd be living with your Ma. What chick's gonna bang you in your childhood bedroom?"
Miguel side-eyed O'Reily for that little rumination, because catching bits of him in the mirror wouldn't carry the same weight. 'Is this your way of cheering me up? Stick to the fucking chocolate, maybe."
But yeah. O'Reily's little spiel turning on a dime once Miguel's hope got shredded for another fucking year, the man arguing for Miguel's pessimism now that optimism was no longer an option -- that meant something.
The chocolate wasn't bad either, even as Miguel had almost wiped it out. He hummed around his spoon in contemplation before pulling it out with a last lick. "You know what would be a real fucking treat? Ice cream."
"Yeah, well. This is what we got." Ryan wasn't looking ahead anymore, either. He'd turned just a little to direct his gaze more towards Miguel. Miguel was maybe focused on licking remnants off the spoon, estimating how many spoonfuls were left (maybe four?), but he'd shifted a bit, too, returning Ryan's side view enough to see his face as well. "So shut up and eat your pudding."
"Be nice, baby, or I won't share." The tease just came out, like it brought him out of his head, dragging along Ryan's shoulder again with it.
And the pudding went in, closed his eyes to just taste the chocolate. Don't think. Had this at least, right? Walls and glass, and maybe he'd never have that beer--
Don't think.
When he opened his eyes, spoon coming out of his mouth with a last suck, O'Reily was watching him. Keen, but unreadable.
Miguel pretended to sigh, dipping for another spoonful. Yeah, maybe three left.
Don't think.
Didn't.
Just held it out, an offer.
Miguel's hand stayed steady when Ryan's reaching fingers brushed against his (yeah, felt the rough drag of a callous, definitely), before Ryan was popping it in his mouth with a grin, knee knocking his again, like it was nothing.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was a kick in the...
***
End (experimental ending, oh no!)